


Succubusted

by skepwith



Series: Sexytimes With Deadpool [4]
Category: Deadpool (Comics)
Genre: Caning, DP squared (Double Penetration Deadpool), Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Humor, M/M, Multi, PWP, Panties, Punishment, Restraints, Tentacles, is that a thing?, minotaur sex, we'll call it monster sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:24:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6689044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skepwith/pseuds/skepwith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So this story is about the time I fucked up—</p><p>[ONE of the times you fucked up]</p><p>—and pissed off Shiklah, my wife. She decided to punish me with the help of a couple of her henchdemons, and kinky fun was had by all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Succubusted

The elevator gate creaked open onto the underground city of Monster Metropolis. “Dave, my man!” I said to the guard on duty, swinging him a high five that didn’t quite reach its target.  
  
“Your Highness,” lisped Dave through his tusks.  
  
I took a deep breath of the familiar infernal fumes. As the saying goes, “Home is where when you turn up at the door, they have to call you ‘Your Highness’ because you’re married to the Queen.”  
  
[Pretty sure that’s not how it goes.]  
  
The Queen is, of course, Shiklah, my demon bride. The Morticia to my Gomez. The socio to my pathic. What a woman! (Succubus, whatever.) When I first realized she was actually into me, I thought, _Sure, in her natural form she’s a huge bloodthirsty demon that could tear me limb from limb, but there must be a downside._  
  
It’s still hard to believe someone that sexy and powerful is actually attracted to me. I mean, my body ain’t exactly a wonderland. More like a travelling circus, and we’re not talking Ringling Bros., either. We’re talking the kind with dead-eyed carnies and two-headed lizard boys and eerie calliope music and peeling paint on the merry-go-round horses. The kind that would give Fellini nightmares and make Ray Bradbury go, “Ooo, that’s a bit creepy.”  
  
Where was I?  
  
[I honestly have no idea.]  
  
Oh, yeah! Shiklah. So, not only is she not turned off by my lava-lamp skin and its assorted scars, lesions, and open wounds, she’s actually _into_ it! For real! She’s like one of those pervs who gets off on sucking toes and thinks the dirtier the foot, the hotter it is—you know, corns, blisters, toe jam—  
  
{I think the readers might be about to barf.}  
  
[I know I am!]  
  
Well, you get the idea. We’re a match made in, uh, hell, I guess, and I’m one lucky dude!  
  
Big Red Dave broke into my exposition. (I call him Big Red Dave to keep from confusing him with Little Red Dave or Big Blue Dave or Squid-Faced Dave.) BRD said, “Her Majesty wants to see you immediately.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” I said, striking a sexy pose. “Can’t wait to get a piece of this, am I right?”  
  
“Uh,” he scraped a claw over his forehead, “I think she’s kinda pissed. She mighta said something about having your balls shish-kebabed.”  
  
Yikes! My man-berries can take a lot of abuse—hell, sign me up for a good ballbusting any day of the week—but this seemed a little extreme. “Guess I’d better go see what she wants,” I said, my attitude sagging a little as I scampered off to her—I mean, our—palace.  
  
I stopped just outside the door to the royal bedroom—or, as I liked to call it, our boudoir of sexy fun times. Tom and Jerry were standing guard.  
  
“Hey, fellas,” I said, waving up at them.  
  
They looked a little worried. At least, Tom looked worried: his bull’s head shifted back and forth and his big brown eyes blinked rapidly. Jerry’s face was covered by the hood of his cloak as usual, but I thought his tentacles wriggled in kind of a nervous way. Or maybe he just had indigestion. It was hard to tell.  
  
“Is that my consort?” demanded a voice from the other side of the door. “Send him in!”  
  
Shiklah was pacing back and forth across the room—although it wasn’t so much a room as a cave, lit by stacks of drippy candles and filled with some wooden chairs decorated in a skull theme and a huge four-poster bed with purple sheets. I hadn’t had the heart to tell her you could find pretty much the same set-up in any basic S &M dungeon or Hot Topic catalogue these days. Shiklah can be a little out of touch with the modern world. It’s sorta cute.  
  
“Well, husband?” she said, not looking very cute at the moment, if I’m honest.  
  
“Yes, my yellow-eyed temptress?”  
  
She put her fists on her nicely curvy hips. “What do you have to say for yourself?”  
  
That was an easy one. “Well, I think the Beatles are overrated. I don’t like swimming ’cause I hate it when water gets up my nose. Mexican food is the best, but I don’t get that _mo-lay_ shit. Why would you put chocolate on meat? That’s just fuckin’ weird. My mask itches right now, and these panties are giving me a wedgie, but, cards on the table, I’m kinda enjoying it—”  
  
“Wade!”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
Shiklah tossed back her long black hair—which made me wish I had hair to toss ’cause it’s crazy hot when chicks do that—and said, “Today was my annual address to the gathered denizens of Monster Metropolis.”  
  
“Ohhh...” I was so fucked.  
  
“Yes. Tell me, how can I inspire fear and awe in my subjects when it’s plain I can’t even control my own husband!” She lifted one of the heavy wooden chairs and smashed it against the wall, just to reinforce her point.  
  
I don’t know if you know this about me, but senseless destruction kinda gets me hot. “Babe,” I said. “Shikkie. I’m sorry, I totally spaced it. You know how hard it is for my constantly regenerating brain to keep hold of an idea for more than fifteen seconds.”  
  
“Where _were_ you?” she snarled, her face starting to look a little demony around the edges.  
  
{Rarrr! Maybe she’ll throw us around later.}  
  
[Good chance of that, I’d say.]  
  
Ignoring the boxes, I answered, “At Preston’s with Ellie.” Ellie’s my daughter, but don’t hold it against her—she’s nothing like me. “It was pizza-and-movie night. We watched _The Shining_ again—it’s Ellie’s favourite. You shoulda heard her laugh!”  
  
My wife sniffed. “You place a great deal of value on spending time with your offspring. Amongst my people, we leave our spawn to fend for themselves.”  
  
“Hey, you know, different strokes for different folks, right? What a boring world it would be blah, blah, blah, blah. Look, my kid’s important to me. Don’t ask me to abandon her again, ’cause that ain’t happening.”  
  
“And what of my reputation? You know how I enjoy your insolence, but outright defiance must be punished.”  
  
{Is it just me or is our suit getting tighter?}  
  
“Are we talkin’ the fun kind of punishment or the— Ah, who am I kidding? It’s all fun!”  
  
Shiklah threw back her head and let out a deep, booming laugh that made the stala-thingies shake, scattering dust and little pieces of rock all over the floor. I adjusted my panties.  
  
Smirking, she said, “Yes, I know very well what you like. But I am not going to, as you put it, fuck the shit out of you.”  
  
“You’re not?” My shoulders drooped at this sad news. Other parts of me drooped too.  
  
Her smirk widened into something hungry, with a hint of pointy teeth. “Haven’t you learned, husband, that part of being a good leader is knowing how to delegate? Baskinah! Vixineras!” (That’s what she calls Tom and Jerry for some reason.)  
  
[Probably because it’s their actual names.]  
  
Tom came in first, ducking his head to keep his horns from getting stuck in the doorway. Apart from the bull’s head he had a regular man’s body—if by “regular” you mean “huge, and bulging in all the right places.” His robe was unfastened and underneath it he wore some kind of Renaissance-Faire-blacksmith-type getup, along with the big gold ring through his nose that just begged to be yanked on, though I’d somehow managed to restrain myself so far. Jerry oozed in behind him, and both bowed. “What is your bidding, my Queen?” they chorused. Tom’s voice was low and rumbling, while Jerry’s was sort of liquidy.  
  
“Seize my husband and spread him out on the bed face-down. No need to be gentle. He is quite… resilient.”  
  
“Whoa, hey!” I said as Tom’s burly arms slid under my shoulders. At the same time, tentacles shot out from under Jerry’s robes and wrapped around my ankles in a surprisingly strong grip. I bucked and wriggled, just for the look of things, as they threw me onto the bed—no one can say I don’t know how to play my role.  
  
In moments I was spread-eagled across the bed sideways with my wrists and ankles pinned. I panted into the purple sheets, breathless from exertion and because all this manhandling was really doing it for me. My dick was well on board by now, all hands on deck, all blood cells to the groinal region, stat! I ground my hips into the mattress, looking for relief.  
  
“Stop wiggling!” commanded Shiklah. By turning my head and craning my neck a little, I could see her walking slowly toward me, her boot heels echoing through the cave. The sound made me shiver. In one hand she was carrying a stick, the long flexible kind that boys are always getting whipped with in old books like _Huckleberry Sawyer_ or whatever—I think it’s called a switch. I may have whimpered. Ecstatically.  
  
My wife smiled. “You see? Punishment and reward. The carrot and the stick.”  
  
I turned my head to eye Tom’s peasant trousers where they were bulging impressively in front. “That’s quite a carrot,” I said.  
  
The bull-man looked like he might have been blushing, though it was hard to tell under the fur. This close, I could see his eyelashes, which went on for miles. I added, “Nice septum piercing, by the way.”  
  
“Don’t grab it!” he rumbled warningly.  
  
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Besides,” I wiggled my wrists, which looked almost delicate in his big hands, “kinda helpless, here. Although I _am_ very sneaky, so you should probably hold extra tight just in case I try anything.” He obliged by tightening his grip and I nearly moaned out loud.  
  
At the foot of the bed, Shiklah swung her stick through the air a few times like she was testing it out. It made a singing noise, and the skin on my ass tingled in anticipation. Man, this was gonna hurt. My hips twitched with excitement at the thought and my dick throbbed.  
  
“Rip off his clothes,” said Shiklah.  
  
“Wha— Hey, no! I have to repair this thing myself!” But then strong hands—and other things—were gripping fistfuls of fabric, ready to tear it off my body, and, damn, was that hot. “Fuck it,” I said. “I’ve got a sewing machine. Rip away.”  
  
A loud tearing noise split the air and I felt coolness against my shivering skin. Whatever was left of my outfit was yanked away, including the mask. The only thing between me and total exposure was a pair of lacy red panties. Shiklah stepped up behind me ( _tok, tok,_ went her boots) and slid a clawed finger under the waistband. “These too,” she said, releasing the elastic with a snap.  
  
“Ouch! But these are my favourite pair!”  
  
“I will buy you another.”  
  
“Okay.” The panties were torn off in seconds, and now I was totally bare-ass nekkid. Not that long ago this would have bothered me—a lot—but all the time I’d spent hanging out with Shiklah and her demon peeps had made me less self-conscious about my looks.  
  
“Now,” said my wife, “for your disobedience, I will give you ten strokes.”  
  
“It’s like Christmas!”  
  
“You will count each one aloud. Is that understood?”  
  
“Yep. Loud and clear.”  
  
“Good. Communication is important for a healthy relationship.”  
  
“Wha—?” I started to say, but then came the _whoosh_ of the switch and the _fwack!_ of it striking flesh. A line of burning fire shot across my butt cheeks. “Gah! Holy crap! I think my future grandkids felt that!”  
  
“Number?”  
  
“Uh, one,” I said. My voice came out all Marilyn-Monroe breathy. The scratchy tip of the switch trailed across my left cheek, from corner to corner. “ _Happy birthday, Mis-ter Pres-i-dent,_ ” I sang under my breath. The anticipation was killing me.  
  
_Thwack!_ Another stinging blow, across my right cheek this time—unexpected! “Aaahh!” I said appreciatively. “T-two.”  
  
“Spread his legs,” ordered Shiklah. The sushi that was wrapped around my ankles began snaking up my calves to my knees, pushing them irresistibly apart. “Wider,” she said, and I felt myself spread open further. I tried putting up a struggle, just for fun, but more tentacles joined the party (how many did Jerry _have_ under that robe?) and they pinned my legs to the bed, too strong for me to resist.  
  
“I told you to stop wiggling,” scolded Shiklah, tapping my thigh with the switch.  
  
“I know but it’s hard!” She snorted at my witty double entendre, while I added, “Seriously, though, things are getting a little cramped under here, if you know what I mean.”  
  
With a little _tsk,_ she reached between my legs and gently pulled my balls back until they poked out under my ass. A thumb swept across the tender skin of my sack, followed by the light scrape of a nail—or was it a claw? “Oh fuck,” I said sincerely to the sheets. I could tell they understood what I meant.  
  
When the next blow came down across my upper thigh, the tip of the switch flicked my balls like a bee sting. I shouted, writhing in Tom and Jerry’s grip. The demons were no slouches, though, and didn’t give an inch. “Three!” I gasped, as sweat beaded at my temples and began to pool in the small of my back.  
  
Shiklah stroked my balls again—with a knuckle this time—and said, “As your wife, I am sensitive to your needs, am I not?”  
  
Huh? “What do you mean? Have you been watching Dr. Phil or something?”  
  
She let out a puff of annoyance that sounded more like her usual self. “It was a book. On human marriages. _How to Actualize a Perfect Relationship_.”  
  
“Sounds stupid. Listen, babe, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” I said, twisting my neck to get a look at her. She was tapping a finger against her thrust-out lower lip. I really, really wanted to suck on that lip. And the finger. And every other part of her.  
  
“It said mutual interests are crucial,” she said, frowning. “Do we have mutual interests?”  
  
“I dunno. Sex, mayhem…uh…more sex.”  
  
“That sounds perfectly reasonable,” she said, satisfied. And then the switch was back on the job (about time!) and whipping a line of fire across my right butt-cheek.  
  
“Gnah!” I agreed.  
  
“Number?”  
  
“Four?” I guessed.  
  
“Very good,” she said, stroking her palm against my hot skin. Then _Five! Six! Seven!_ came in quick succession, lashing across my lower thighs.  
  
I bucked against the bed, somewhere between agony and nirvana, my legs, ass, and balls all on fire. “Fuckfuckfuck!”  
  
“You’re not counting.”  
  
“Uh…” My concentration was nothing to brag about at the best of times, and right now I was in serious danger of forgetting my own name.  
  
{Have we passed five yet?}  
  
[Six, it was definitely six.]  
  
“Eight.”  
  
“Wrong!”  
  
Oh, shit.  
  
“Normally I would start over after such a mistake, but I am feeling lenient at the moment, so I’ll only add one more stroke to your punishment.”  
  
I wriggled like a puppy at her words—I’m not proud of it, but that’s what I did. I totally would have kissed her feet if she’d let me.  
  
{Mmmm… toes.}  
  
“Wade!”  
  
“Huh? What?”  
  
Shiklah sighed in that exasperated way people always seem to do when I’m around. “Usually,” she said, “this is where one expresses gratitude.”  
  
“Oh, yeah! Totally! So much gratitude, sweets. Truckloads. I’m way grateful.”  
  
The next blow rocked me into the mattress. “Well?” she asked when I didn’t say anything.  
  
“You never told me what number we were on.”  
  
“It’s eight now.”  
  
“But that’s what I said!”  
  
_Thwack!_ “Uhn! Nine!” I groaned into the sheets, my body going completely limp—well, with one obvious exception. My arms and legs were trembling and sweat rolled down my skin.  
  
Shiklah slid her hand down my back and cupped my ass—which was probably glowing like Rudolph’s nose by now—in her cool palm. “You’re doing very well,” she murmured. “So brave. So strong.”  
  
A little grateful sweat maybe leaked out of my eyes at that. I don’t exactly remember.  
  
The switch cracked against my ass again, winding me up to the breaking point. Everything throbbed, from my toes to my scalp. “Ten,” I whispered.  
  
Then came the last one—hard across the very tops of my thighs, with a whisper of impact against my tightening balls. Eleven. I’m not sure I even said it out loud. My orgasm shot through me like a bottle rocket. I shouted something that would probably be embarrassing if I could remember what it was, and all my muscles locked as my cock pulsed and jizz spurted hot against my skin.  
  
For a while, I was frolicking with bunnies and rainbows. Then I came down enough to notice Shiklah was sitting on the bed next to me, and my arms and legs were free. I rolled onto my side and smacked my lips.  
  
“Thirsty?” She held a goblet up to my mouth and I drank something cool and sweet.  
  
“Thanks, babe.” I noticed come on my belly, cooling and sticky, and swiped at it half-heartedly with a bit of sheet that was mostly clean. “So is that it for the punishment? Are we at the reward part now?”

“You hardly deserve one,” she said, setting down the empty goblet. “I’ve never known anyone to talk back as much as you do. Though I do enjoy your…” her eyes slid up and down my body, and I stretched, showing myself off in all my scarred and lumpy glory, “…enthusiasm.” She licked her lips.  
  
“Hey, you know me! Balls to the wall. Sometimes literally.”  
  
“Well, I always keep my word… even if _you_ don’t.” Ouch! At the snap of her fingers, Tom and Jerry stepped forward from where they’d been lurking around the edges of the room. “Bring a chair,” she ordered.  
  
Tom picked up one of the ones she hadn’t broken and set it down facing the bed. Shiklah reclined in it like it was a throne and she was a queen. Which, you know, she was, so I guess that made sense.  
  
[Your use of language is masterful.]  
  
Anyway, she was lounging back like a tourist at a tropical resort waiting for the hula girls to start. “Hold him down,” she said.  
  
The boys got me spread-eagled again, but on my back this time, pinned flat against the bed. Well, except for Wade Jr, who had perked up and was taking an interest in things again. Thank you, super-penis!  
  
“Now, bend his knees up, Vixineras. A little more… that’s it. And, Baskinah, pull down your trousers. Let’s see what he can do with that impressive cock of yours.”  
  
“Wait,” I said, “aren’t you gonna ask me what I want?”  
  
“Oh I never said it was _your_ reward,” said Shiklah, grinning toothily. “This reward is for me.”  
  
I kind of gaped at her. Jerry had used his tentacles to push my knees against my stomach and hold them there, and my ass was spread open to the universe in a way that would make a Kardashian blush. At the other end of the bed, Tom had both my wrists pinned in one meaty hand and was using the other to fumble open his fly. His dick popped out like it was happy to be free, and _wow_. The guy was hung like, well, like a bull. His cock was fat and long, jutting out over a heavy pair of balls that were furry enough to give Wolverine a run for his money. “Damn,” I said. And I meant it. My mouth may even have watered a teensy bit.  
  
{Like Niagra Falls.}  
  
I tilted my head back and watched him upside-down, mesmerized. He wrapped a fist around the base of his shaft, pulling back the foreskin from the shiny, swollen head. His hips thrust forward, bumping his cock against my cheek and leaving a trace of wetness there. My tongue darted out and licked at the head like it was an ice cream cone. Tom grunted in surprise, then slapped his hard length against my other cheek. Was this what Zenpool called karmic retribution, I wondered, ’cause of that one time I fought a cow?  
  
Meanwhile, the oozing coils that were wrapped around my legs were getting oozier. A wriggling finger squirmed down the inside of my thigh while another made its way across my ass cheek and deep between my legs.  
  
“If I’d known this fic was gonna be tentacle porn, I’d a worn my Japanese schoolgirl uniform,” I said. Something warm, wet, and wiggly snaked down my crack and started tickling my hole. I tried to play it cool, but in between my spread knees my cock was jumping up like an excited contestant on _The Price Is Right,_ so I don’t think anyone bought it. Jerry certainly wasn’t put off—yet another tentacle nudged wetly at my balls and cupped them in a firm grip.  
  
Rolling my eyes past Tom’s muscular thighs, I could just make out my wife watching the show like it was the television event of the decade. She had one leg hooked over the arm of her chair and a hand shoved down the front of her demonic unitard. When she saw me looking, she smirked and slowly licked her lower lip.  
  
I stuck out my tongue.  
  
Taking this as encouragement, or maybe a challenge, Tom shoved his cock against my mouth. I opened up and took in the head, closing my lips and sucking like I was tryna drink a McDonald’s milkshake through a straw. He let out a deep groan at that, and I felt my own cock throb at the sound.  
  
As if in answer, another tentacle wrapped around the base of my shaft, holding it firmly in case it tried to get away. The one at my hole was starting to get serious. It began nudging its way past my resistance, wriggling insistently further until I felt it work its way inside me. Warm, thick fluid trickled down my crack as it stroked me from the inside, twisting and swelling and pushing from every angle. “Oh my God, that feels fucking amazing!” I said, only it came out “Mmmnh mnh mm-mmhh!” I never can remember not to speak with my mouth full.  
  
The tentacle found my happy spot pretty quick and began rubbing and pulsing in a way that made my eyes roll back. The one that was decorating Wade Jr spiralled slowly up my shaft, wrapping its hot slickness around and around like a boa constrictor in love. My hips tried to buck up into its grip, but Jerry and his army of arms had me too pinned down to move.  
  
I mumbled something even I couldn’t interpret and opened my mouth wider to take in more of Tom’s beef sausage. He lowed (is that what it’s called?) and pushed forward until his fist was pressing against my lips and his furry balls were nestled warmly on my forehead like it was a little shelf built just for them. My throat closed around the head of his cock and he rocked forward, panting loudly. My own cock was being squeezed in pulses by Jerry’s boa constrictor and there was no way I was gonna last much longer.  
  
Suddenly Shiklah was standing over me—I hadn’t heard her get up, but then I was kinda preoccupied. She pulled Tom out of my mouth with a loud wet pop and encouraged him to jack himself furiously. I was about to complain—as soon as I caught my breath—when she darted a hand to the ring in his nose and gave it a sharp twist. He bellowed like a, well, you know, and his cock twitched in his fist. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth, as you do for a surprise treat, and felt hot, bitter come splash all over my tongue, lips, chin, and throat. _Ole, motherfucker,_ I thought.  
  
At the same time, Jerry’s kids were swelling and tightening even more. One fat, firm tentacle was shoved so far up my ass I was sure it was gonna start tickling my throat any second now. It kept wriggling rhythmically like it thought it was on _Soul Train,_ and I could feel the pressure everywhere, and I mean _everywhere_ —even my fingernails were turned on. The tentacle on my cock rubbed its flexible, pointed tip against my crown, then poked itself into my slit. I shouted and writhed, totally gone, my mind checked out to some ecstatic fugue state that only hedonists and religious mystics hang out in. I came like gangbusters all over what would’ve been Jerry’s face if he’d had one. It seemed to go on and on, as if I’d been saving up and it was time to blow it all in one big splurge.  
  
“Enjoy that?” I panted up at Shiklah, when my eyes were willing to open again. She was looking down at me with a toothy smile. I wiped the spooge off my face. Tom was leaning against a bedpost, tucking himself back in, and Jerry had withdrawn to comb his tentacles or whatever.  
  
“You tell me,” said Shiklah, in answer to my question. She slipped two fingers into my mouth so I could taste how much fun she’d been having.  
  
“Mmmm…” I said, sucking appreciatively. Lots of fun, it turned out.  
  
She climbed into bed next to me, propping her chin on my chest so she could watch my face while toying with one of my nipples. “You are so insolent…”  
  
“Yeah, that’s kinda my thing. Ah!” She pinched my nipple—hard—and I squirmed.  
  
“…but so _eager,_ ” she purred. Her yellow eyes gleamed and I felt my boner start to regenerate.  
  
Without breaking eye contact, she called out, “Leave us!” to Tom and Jerry. They scurried out the door, fumbling their robes closed.  
  
“Thanks, guys!” I shouted after them. “It was fun!” Hopefully the rest of their shift wouldn’t be too awkward.  
  
“So much trouble,” Shiklah was murmuring, almost as if to herself.  
  
“Yeah, but that’s why you love me, right?”  
  
She licked a long line from my belly all the way up to the hollow of my throat with her inhumanly long tongue. Then she looked down at me and grinned. “Lucky for you that you are so handsome.”  
  
I may have blushed.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title shamelessly stolen from "Lost Girl."


End file.
